


spooky arnoldian hell dream

by Anonymous



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spooky Mormon Hell Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: arnold deals with the aftermath of a hell dream.
Relationships: Arnold Cunningham & Kevin Price, Arnold Cunningham & Nabulungi Hatimbi, Arnold Cunningham/Kevin Price
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20
Collections: Anonymous





	spooky arnoldian hell dream

**Author's Note:**

> hey!! slight trigger warning for descriptions of arnold having an anxiety attack!
> 
> the first one is very mild since it's from kevin's point of view (mostly), but it starts at "'no, no, no,' arnold stammered," and ends at "arnold eventually opened his eyes." the second one starts at "and then suddenly arnold felt" and ends at "kevin came up to arnold."

arnold didn't usually have hell dreams. maybe it was because he never started off with a strong faith, or he never really got the whole _wrath of god_ thing, or he just wasn't afraid of stuff like that, anyway.

but he knew what it was from the moment it started.

it had started off nice, like any other dream - he was sitting on the floor of the missionary kitchen, holding hands with kevin and discussing the next chapter of _the book of arnold_ ("god loves you as you are so you really shouldn't have to put _ties_ and _dress slacks_ on") - and then suddenly sarlacc monsters had burst through the floor, grabbing at arnold and pulling him down, down into the fiery red pits.

there, he was bombarded with many of the same horrors that the other missionaries had talked about in hushed voices.

his family had appeared, of course - traditional mormon stuff. it wasn't a surprise to see them calling him a sissy and a failure, a disgrace to the fine name of _cunningham,_ but it did hurt. even if he'd heard it before.

but arnold had been chased, too, by morgoth and sauron and horrible, _grey_ versions of the missionaries, chanting, "turn it off! turn it off!" (the missionaries hadn't had any eyes, either, which freaked him out more than the whole chase).

satan had eventually joined in the fun, too. what hell dream ever left out _him?_

but the worst part, worse than even kevin leaving him again, or the general shooting him over and over, was the ending.

arnold had been transported to the village, and he had thought that this was _finally_ the end of the hell dream. checking to make sure there were no more monsters or missionaries or anything in between, arnold had looked up at the sky. 

that was a mistake, because a bright white light of retribution immediately struck down from the heavens, and arnold screamed as it felt like his head split open from impact.

arnold shrieked and sat upright in bed, his hands flying immediately to his head. he felt around desperately for a cut, a wound of any kind.

kevin blinked his eyes open from the other bed.

"arnold? arn...?" kevin croaked, waking up slowly. he caught sight of arnold's frenzied eyes. "buddy?"

kevin rolled over to arnold's bed, but arnold whimpered and scooted frantically away from him, still holding his head. his fingers scrabbled at his scalp, running over it again and again.

"no, no, no," arnold stammered, squeezing his eyes shut. kevin made to touch his shoulder, but thought better of it. instead, he looked arnold over.

"...are you hurting? does your head hurt, somewhere?"

arnold nodded anxiously. his words spilled out of him, uncontrolled. "p-please - there's nothing on my head, there's nothing near it, s-say it."

kevin examined arnold's head. nothing _seemed_ to be wrong.

"everything looks fine to me," kevin said cautiously, "nothing on your head but hair. do you have a headache?"

arnold shook his head furiously. "it-it was a dream."

kevin's stomach dropped. "a hell dream?"

arnold nodded, shuddering, and drew one shaking hand from his head down to his lap.

he barely knew how to deal with hell dreams for himself, let alone with other people. and a tiny, nasty part of him thought that - well. the hell dream _had_ been warranted.

"the - the dream was that heavenly father struck me down," arnold rasped, barely a whisper, "a-and it feels like an axe. in. my head."

he spoke as though it were difficult to do so. but o _h,_ kevin thought, _kevin could handle_ _hallucinations. he'd seen the ugandan man get shot hours after he was_ _gone._

"there's _nothing_ on your head." kevin repeated. "whatever you're feeling now, i _promise_ it's not real."

"it's not real," arnold said quietly to himself, bringing his other hand down to grip the sheets, "not real, not real, notreal notreal notreal."

"you can hold my hand," kevin offered cautiously, "and squeeze it when you feel pain. squeeze as hard as you can. it's okay."

arnold, seeming to warm to this idea, took kevin's hand. his shakes lessened, but the pressure on kevin's hand increased. he winced under the grip, but it seemed to relieve arnold immensely.

"there's nothing hurting you. it's not there."

arnold eventually opened his eyes, uncurling from the semi-fetal position he'd unsconsciously adopted, and told kevin the whole horrible hell dream, tears welling up in his big brown eyes.

kevin winced in sympathy and shook his head at all the right points, but it didn't soothe arnold exactly the way he hoped it would.

even as the night went on, and the two drifted off to sleep, arnold couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't safe - that at any point, an axe would _really_ come down on him.

-

the other missionaries noticed, too. it was subtle, and if you didn't know arnold well, you'd assume he just had some odd little quirks.

for example - arnold now glanced up a little too often, like he was expecting to see something up there. the missionaries didn't know what he saw besides sky and clouds, but he looked ever so slightly anxious when he did it. kevin had taken to stroking his thumb over arnold's hand comfortingly whenever this happened - and they supposed it _was_ comforting, in some way.

another sign was how, now, arnold was constantly touching his head. scratching his scalp, smoothing his hair, even just tapping out a rhythm absentmindedly on the side of it - like he was trying to reassure himself that it was still there.

-

nabulungi had pulled him aside into a little corner of the village. she had asked him about it, and at first arnold had nervously denied anything, looking up at the sky again, giving that stuttering, high-pitched laughter she knew too well.

and then suddenly arnold felt like he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, because he could almost _see_ the light splitting his head open - he could _feel_ that blinding pain and he was stumbling backward and trying to escape and trying to escape and trying to escape and trying to escape and -

he was in the mission house.

he was breathing. quickly.

if he thought too fast or too complicated, it came back again.

the phantom pains.

the visuals.

he was holding his head. protecting it.

there was nothing there.

his knees came up to his face. his head rested on his legs.

there was a missionary.

there was kevin.

there was nabulungi.

the room was spinning.

he felt the ground. it was solid beneath his hands. and it wasn't spinning.

there was no pain. there was pain, but it was a brain signal. a headache. or something.

"there's nothing there, arnold," kevin's voice came, soft and gentle. "i promise. we won't let anything hurt you."

there was something muffled going on in the background. "give me that," kevin said quietly. nabulungi's warm hands found arnold's, in place of kevin's.

arnold wanted to thank her, but he couldn't. instead he stared at her hand, studying her fingernails through the slits of his eyes.

kevin came up to arnold, holding something in his hands. he kneeled down, presenting it to him. arnold lifted his head.

it was his teddy bear. luke. it was one of the only possessions he still had. it had been kept in his _star wars_ backpack.

at a different time, arnold would have been embarrassed. but now, he opened his arms and hugged luke bearwalker like the world was ending.

-

"i just feel like something is cutting into my head," arnold said, tugging at a lock of curly hair, "like it's just pounding over and over and over."

_i hate this,_ he added silently. he _hated_ breaking down like this in front of the missionaries. _he_ was supposed to be the new prophet, and here he was crying about getting smited. smote? smoten?

connor threw a concerned look to Kevin, who had been wearing worry on his face since arnold had had that hell dream.

"well... you do know it's not real, right?" connor asked cautiously. arnold withheld an eyeroll. connor clearly cared, but arnold didn't think he'd ever experienced a hell dream to _this_ extent before.

"of course he knows, he's not an idiot," kevin snapped. "the question is, what are we going to do?"

connor fixed kevin with an unimpressed and slightly reproachful look, then turned to arnold. "well, if it's psychological... i mean, elder cunningham, you haven't hit your head recently, have you?"

"no," arnold said, annoyed, and smoothed his hair, "it's a psychological thing. i think. if i concentrate on how it isn't real, it goes away. but i can't think about that for the entire _day._ "

"well... we could ask some of the other elders? or maybe the ugandans? maybe they have some ideas that'll help," connor suggested.

-

the ideas _sort of_ helped _._

elder thomas/poptarts suggested he draw something on his arms, like an M for moroni, and touch it whenever he felt anxious. and though this worked somewhat, it also led to a bunch of very smudged letters up and down his arms.

elder neely blinked and suggested meditation, which he had been practicing with mutumbo, to great success. arnold had tried that, but the silence only made him focus on the pain and dizziness even _more_ _._

elder church uncomfortably suggested trying to turn it off, until he recieved a sharp look from connor and apologized. other than that, he really had no ideas.

elder davis tried to help by giving arnold extra tasks, under the impression that it would help distract him, but it only made him tired and more ragged at the end of the day, which made kevin worry even _more_ _._

but finally, elder michaels had spoken up and just asked why arnold hadn't even gone to dr. gotswana yet.

kevin, who had been with him at the time, had nearly smacked himself in the face for not realizing that before.

-

"i can't _believe_ we didn't take you to the doctor before," kevin repeated for what seemed like the fifth time, "it seems so obvious!"

"to be fair, gotswana does have maggots in his, you know, he probably doesn't have the same... uh... experience that utah doctors have," arnold winced.

kevin continued on. "but now i'm _sure_ this'll make you feel better. i read something like this, you know, back in high school, about psychological conditions and people who'd convinced themselves they were sick - not that you're sick, of course - but they went to the doctor and they had to take placebo drugs - not that you're going to have to take placebo drugs - until they finally got better or the doctor told them they were better, and it was all because of their _mind!_ " kevin beamed. he took a few deep breaths after saying all that.

"you want me to take a sugar pill until an axe stops hitting my head?" arnold deadpanned. kevin frowned.

"arnold."

"kevin."

"buddy."

"pal."

"...gotswana," gotswana said confusedly, prompting kevin and arnold to look at him in surprise - they hadn't realized they'd reached his hut yet. "do either of you need something?"

"doctor gotswana, there's... something wrong with my mind," arnold said uncomfortably. "i think i've been having, um, hallucinations? kinda? that something is hurting me?"

"as long as it's not maggots or AIDS, i should be able to help you out," gotswana said cheerfully, ushering them inside. "actually, with the... _help_ of the general, i've been able to start treating the maggots."

"that's great," arnold said hastily, seeing the look on kevin's face when the general was mentioned, "um, so you said you could help us?"

"of course! but first - " gotswana waved a basket in front of them, and the boys dug around in their pockets until they'd come up with the ugandan shillings. "thank you."

"right, prophet cunningham, i'll just be taking a few readings," gotswana called from his cabinets, where he rummaged around until he came out with what arnold recognized as doctor's tools. he narrowly avoided commenting on it - gotswana _was_ a doctor, after all.

after telling gotswana the whole darn story over again, arnold obeyed the doctor's commands - stuck out his tongue, winced at the blood pressure monitor, and tried not to blink under the bright white pen light - until gotswana put them down, looking satisfied.

"nothing seems to be wrong _physically_ ," gotswana said, and privately arnold thought _i could have told you that,_ "but somewhere i have a list of those mental treatments."

"sorry, _those mental treatments?_ "

"sure," gotswana dug around in the back of his cabinets, "university of kampala's 'general medicine' major never taught anyone _shit_ about mental conditions, but i think i still have some notes from my minor."

gotswana yelled when he found it, and soon arnold was holding a very rumpled copy titled "grounding techniques mental 401 2008" (it had been translated from swahili and slightly smudged, so arnold was prepared to take it with a grain of salt) and ushered out.

-

_grounding techniques mental_ _401 2008 _

_grounding techniques oftn used in:_

_-anxietd_

_-PTSD_

_-self harm urges_

_-trauma_

_grounding technique def: ways to gruund yourself to the present_

_examples:_

_-pick up/touch thigs near you_

_-deep breathing_

_-eat/drunk_

_-feel body_

_-listen to noise_

_-simple math problems_

_-anchor phrase (i'm gotswana, i'm 23 YRS, there's nothing around me)_

-

arnold can feel kevin's hand in his. it's cool and light, and his skin is slightly rough - the effect of being sunburned over and over again until your body adjusts.

arnold's chest rises and falls, taking in a calming deep breath. it's not disturbed by his heavy footsteps along the dirt roads, and the hot ugandan air seems to stifle him a little bit less than usual.

arnold savors the taste of one strawberry poptart, given to him by a reluctant elder thomas. the frosting is sweet and there's a certain artificial taste that he associates with home. by contrast, the bread is dry and tastes like nothing, and is soon swallowed down with a glass of water.

arnold moves his hand from his head and instead interlocks it with his own hand. arnold's hand is softer than kevin's, warmer, and slightly sweatier. his nails, however, are rougher, from being bitten - another habit he's trying to quit.

arnold sits outside on a wooden box. he can hear the villagers chat outside, and catches snippets of their conversations. sometimes it's gossip - sometimes it's even gossip about the _mormons._ according to kimbay, her son - nineteen, now - has had eyes for no one but elder mckinley lately. on top of that, he's been texting nabulungi all about the elder. middala snickers, says something in swahili, and the two share a laugh.

over the villagers, he hears birds chirping, and even the missionaries in the distance. they're planning something, something big, and he'll be a part of it, but for now he listens.

arnold counts. there are six missionaries on the ugandan mission, eight if he counts him and kevin. elder mckinley, elder church, elder michaels, elder thomas, elder neely, elder davis, elder - no, _kevin_ \- price, and himself.

there are four new members of the church of arnold. maia, darlesia, asmeret, and lawrence. maia and darlesia were baptized by elder michaels and elder davis - that's four - and asmeret and lawrence were baptized by elder mckinley and elder thomas - another four. eight in total. four missionaries and four baptisms. lots of missionaries, lots of baptisms.

his name is arnold cunningham. he's nineteen, and his birthday is march 15. there's nothing in the sky except birds and clouds, and nothing comes to hurt him.

he breathes. he's safe.

arnold is safe, and nothing can hurt him.

**Author's Note:**

> btw this is the same person who wrote "touch!" i'm publishing these fics anonymously bc. i'm a little embarrassed of em. these are mostly just little things i write at night with like no editing as a break from my regular heavy stuff lol.   
> also: YES kevin and arnold still call each other pal and buddy when they are boyfriends and YES it confuses everyone around them.


End file.
